


Forgive me, shield-brother

by crystalemi



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Battle of Azanulbizar, Blood, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Gen, Pre-Canon, maybe a bit of gore, nothing too graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 04:11:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1764970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystalemi/pseuds/crystalemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Battle had ended in a bloodbath. Not the kind of bloodbath Dwalin was used to witnessing after a battle, but one he fervently wished to never see again, as there seemed to be more friends than foes on the ground.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forgive me, shield-brother

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I had a problem with ages, so I'm following Tolkien and saying that at the time of this story Thorin was 53, Frerin 48, Balin 36 and Dwalin 27, but yes, Dwalin's at the Azanulbizar even if he's a dwarfling, just like PJ showed us.  
> Unbeta'ed, not native english speaker.  
> Hope you (still) enjoy ~

The Battle had ended in a bloodbath.

Not the kind of bloodbath Dwalin was used to witnessing after a battle, but one he fervently wished to never see again, as there seemed to be more friends than foes on the ground.

He looked attentively at all the recognizable faces caked in mud and blood, hoping against hope not to recognize any of them. Or at least not to find his brother’s.

“Dwalin?”

He bumped against a broad chest, Thorin’s hand reaching out to get hold of his chin and suddenly a head was resting against his own, and he drew in a tiny hopeful breath. Then they pulled apart and he saw Thorin’s blue eyes bloodshot, with great dark circles to sunk them in. He looked on the verge of crying, but was still holding strong.

“Lads?” Dwalin turned so fast his head hurt – or maybe that was the hit he received while fighting a particularly hard to die Orc talking. However, he wasn't seeing ghosts, Balin was there in front of him, a split lip bleeding a river and a couple of black-yellowish bruises on his cheekbone and jaw.

Dwalin was younger, almost ten years younger than Balin but he was also taller, oh so much taller than his older brother, and that was something he'd always rubbed in his face, because if he couldn’t be the perfect child, then he’d be the taller and stronger; but as Balin’s eyes grew warm and a great weight lifted from his shoulder, all that Dwalin wanted to do was bury his face in his brother beard and cry until the world went back to being nice, just as he always did as a child.

Their foreheads met and Dwalin could smell the blood in his brother’s mouth. He could have truly cried, had it been a more closed off place. He was sure to break down once he found himself finally alone.

“Are you wounded?” Balin asked still holding his head against his own. Dwalin whispered a broken “No” and Balin heaved a long relieved sigh.

“Are you wounded, Thorin?” Balin asked their cousin while detaching from Dwalin, who was feeling quite better.

“I’m beaten and tired, but fine.” Thorin replied distractedly, looking around the battlefield even while he gently knocked head with Balin. Dwalin noticed he was carrying around a oaken branch, holding it like a shield.

“Would have been way worse, had Dwalin not been around to have my back.” Thorin added with a tight smile, making Dwalin feel proud of himself nonetheless. Balin smiled gently, pride clear in his eyes.

“Have you seen Frerin?” Balin asked and Dwalin supposed that was one of their big-brother-with-bothersome-siblings moment. Thorin shook his head, the phantom of the smile lingering on his lips for praising Dwalin vanishing in a frown.

“Not yet, but father’s at the medical tents, keeping an eye out, I’m looking here on the field…” he mumbled, his eyes always looking for a standing dwarf with a shock of golden hair.

Dwalin silently wondered why Thorin didn’t look on the ground too, as Frerin might have had a wounded leg and could not stand on his own.

“Your Highness…” a short fidgeting dwarf came up. He looked beaten and tired and sick and his eyes were so watery that Dwalin wouldn’t have had any doubt of him crying even if there hadn’t been hiccups in his voice and tracks of tears on his cheeks – there were so few hair on them that Dwalin of all people felt old.

“Speak” Thorin commanded gently, not without a look of pity for such a young dwarf. The lad gulped and seemed scared all of a sudden, even if Thorin wasn’t wearing any dark scowl.

“P-Prince Frerin, t-they found-d him.” He stuttered and started crying again, but one of his hands was pointing to a group of dwarves standing around someone.

Thorin took off and Dwalin followed suit, his heart thumping so loudly in his chest that he almost believed to be back on the battlefield, the rush of blood in his hears. It took a handful of seconds to get to the group, but if felt too long in Dwalin’s head, till time stopped completely when he saw a mop of blond hair caked in gore lie too far from the body the dwarves were now moving.

Dwalin stumbled, stopping on his track, his eyes stubbornly fixated on the mop of blond hair. He saw Thorin stop too, lose his oaken branch, his shoulders sag down under a indescribable weight.

Then the prince – the _only_ prince they had, Dwalin realized – stalked away, keeping his head down on the bodies a their feet. Close enough to Frerin’s body – _decapitated_ , Dwalin mind cruelly supplied – he stopped, where a group of orcs lay dead. Thorin’s sword descended on them suddenly and the squelches Dwalin had thought he wouldn’t hear for a few more hours at the least came back to hunt him.

“Don’t watch.” The advice came from Balin, who was now holding him by the shoulder. Dwalin closed his eyes and still the only thing he could see was the mop of blond hair and Thorin undiluted fury.

“I’m sorry” he murmured and Balin shushed him, but the guilt Dwalin felt settling in his stomach didn’t go away. He could see the mop of blond hair turn brownish, and he heard in the back of his heart a whispering voice telling him how glad he was that it wasn’t _his_ brother.

“I’m sorry” he whispered again, finally letting himself cry on Balin’s armored shoulder.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes the final scene with Dwalin and Balin hugging is from the movie (more or less) and it's what inspired me to write this. Also that day died Dwalin's childhood hero, because Thorin's "human" despite what he achieves and therefore a great friendship was born. Please let me know what you think of this!


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